


(When I) Consider How My Light Is Spent

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Character, Blindness, Blood, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OCs Holding Hands in the Distance, Pre-Canon, References to Characters from the EU, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For ordinary people, it's an ordinary night. For General Hux, it's the night he a) is almost assassinated, b) loses his eyesight and c) is forced to strike a deal with Kylo Ren. Especially the last part on that list is enough to make any sane man feel like going crazy. Ren, meanwhile, clings to the remains of Vader's legacy, just like Hux clings to his destiny of becoming Emperor. Together, they could be an unstoppable force - if only they managed to refrain from going at each other's throat for a few minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(When I) Consider How My Light Is Spent

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1841.html?thread=1794353#cmt1794353) prompt at the kink meme:  
> "Either Hux or Kylo ends up blind (temporarily? Permanently? Maybe they don't know yet?) and has to rely on the other one for help getting around and performing everyday tasks. Which is tricky because that requires a lot of trust and there's a lot of animosity between the two at the best of times. And the blind one is trying to keep it together but is actally really scared.
> 
> Cue lots of hurt/comfort & taking care of each other."
> 
> Because I screamed at this prompt in delight for weeks, and now here I am with a first draft and +50k words. 
> 
> Title taken from the poem "On His Blindness" by John Milton.
> 
> (You can also hit me up on [Tumblr](http://ariodat.tumblr.com/).)

Being on board of a ship like the _Finalizer_ makes it almost impossible to find peace and quiet, even for a short amount of time. It's inevitable, really, due to so many people living, working, _breathing_ here, due to so many voices flowing through the corridors, whispering thoughts and rumours and nonsense, and it does not matter how far one tries to retreat into the most solitary corners and places of this ship, somebody is always bound to be there as well, somebody who's had the same brilliant idea of wishing to be left in peace for a while.

It definitely makes certain tasks harder than they ought to be. Thinking, for example. Or relaxing. Or conjuring plans that might or might not directly interfere – at least partially – with the general attitude of the First Order.

Just like Kylo's plans.

Oops.

It would be a lie to say that he doesn't appreciate the _idea_ of power and sovereignty and ruling over the galaxy. It's actually quite the opposite of it, really, power is something that Kylo very certainly craves; power and knowledge, thanks to the urge to be unique and exceptional, to be special. And this – this is where his personal ideals clash with those of the Order.

An organisation that treats individuality like a disease, that makes sure every sign – however small it might be – of expressing something like a _personality_ results in being resocialized until the 'offender' ends up as dumb and loyal as the rest of the herd again, like sheep waiting in line to be slaughtered.

The thought alone makes Kylo want to retch (sometimes, he wonders if they'd want to try this on him as well, if they ever managed to get a hold of him, if they ever _dared_ to lay their hands on him. It's nothing more than a mere mind game, though. He does not fear them. Knows he could crush them all in the blink of an eyes, and knows that – if all else fails – there is always his master holding a protecting hand over him).

He reaches out to them, sometimes, with his mind, his powers, to see if maybe a single one of them has even the tiniest spark of the Force in them, if maybe one of them is worthy to join the ranks of his Knights.   
He always ends up unsurprisingly disappointed.

There is nothing to them, he knows. He has seen their minds, their thoughts, gentle waves, quiet and steady and blue as the seas of Naboo. They are unimportant, thoughts and people alike. Exchangeable. Replaceable.  
Mere shells designated with a number instead of a name, ripped out of their old lives to be formed into what they now are – so unlike him, who has chosen his own fate and name to be remembered as, unlike him who always strives for _more_. They wear their masks to show to whom they belong – he wears his to show his greatness, to show who he truly is.

To be fair, there are others. Others who are a little more capable. Who can accomplish more than merely being obedient toy soldiers.

There is Mitaka, whose ambitions drive him further than they should, who dreams of being more than he is. Kylo sees it in the way he looks at people he thinks below him and in the way he covers before those who could rip his tongue out of his mouth with the flick of their wrist.

There is Phasma, loyal and clever and not too spineless to speak her mind to those who could end her life. Kylo almost appreciates her, almost wishes to have someone like her at his side in the battles he fights – not those that end in bloodshed, he can take care of those on his own, but those that are fought with words and wits, for she stays calm at all times while he often feels his temper get the better of him.   
Still, Phasma is caught in her loyalty, incapable of leaving her own shortcomings and those of the Order behind.

There is Hux. There is always Hux. And isn't he the greatest fool of them all (annoyingly, though, he is the fool in charge)?  
They could have been alike, he and Kylo, in their endeavour to rule and destroy and create something new out of the fragments of the past – for creation and destruction are the same thing, after all, one being the inevitable result of the other, a never–ending circle, as old and unstoppable as the universe itself. They could have been two sides of the same medal, but Kylo despises Hux' misdirect belief in _fate_ and _destiny_ and a future he was born into (partially because Kylo himself has negated his birthrights and parents to take his life into his own hand).

Admittedly, however, Hux is the only one whose plans and ambitions are not limited to the ridiculous ranks and hierarchies of the Order, for whenever Kylo takes a look at his thoughts, he is greeted by the dream of an all-encompassing _everything_ that, every time anew, hit him like a wall he has to climb to see the _man_ behind the _general_ (and even further behind, in the deepest, most hidden corners of his mind, there is the frightened boy, who surfaces in long and lonely nights to think dangerous thoughts like _I want_ and _I need_ and _father_ , and maybe- maybe this is why Kylo despises him so much, maybe they are too much alike. Maybe. Although Kylo doesn't even want to think of his own father even in the darkest of nights).

In this fateful night (after a satisfactory training session that leaves him exhausted and fatigued, sweaty hair falling over his face and clothes clinging to his body, muscles burning and mind more _awake_ than ever), he dons his robes and helmet and uses the Force to look into Hux' thoughts to see what he has missed (Hux always tries to keep secrets from him, even though he should have learned by now that he is only wasting both their time as well as Ren's powers).

He is not greeted by the familiar feeling of _everything_.

Instead, there is fear.

Sheer panic, screaming and shrill like a tooth-ache, like a wound underneath his skin that he cannot touch or heal.

There is fear and pain, red and thick as blood, and for one long, torturous moment, it actually feels as if Kylo is the one experiencing this pain himself, bright and hot and burning him from the inside, lighting every cell in his body on fire.

He shakes his head, forcing himself to stay calm, to separate himself from Hux again, as much as necessary in order to function, brushing his mind aside with a mental command while already closing his gloved fingers around the handle of his lightsaber. Kylo hastily exits the training room, already sending his mind out again, but not this deep this time. _Where are you?_

One heartbeat passes, another one, and Kylo is still standing in the door frame, uncertain of which way to go.

Then: _Quarters_.  
Almost inaudible, even for someone who listening as intently as Kylo, a weak wheeze, muffled like somebody trying to talk around a mouthful of blood.

But it suffices.

Kylo turns on his heel to make his way to Hux' private quarters, to _run_ there as fast as possible, boots echoing on the polished floor. _Code?_ he asks while skidding around a corner, then around another one. Two Stormtroopers rush past him into the opposite direction (they hesitate in their steps as they see him approaching). Kylo doesn't take the time to inform them about the situation. He needs no reinforcement. They'd only be in the way. _Damnit, General, the security override code! Come on!_ he repeats while hurrying through the last few corridors that separate him from the officers' quarters. _Hux!_

Long seconds pass and when Kylo finally comes to a halt in front of the door to Hux' quarters, he already thinks of hacking his way through the door with his lightsaber, burning through the durasteel. But that would take time, far too much time than they have. Of this, Kylo is sure.

_Damnit, Hux,_ he thinks to himself. _If you die here and leave me with an imbecile like Mitaka in charge, I swear I'll drag your ghost back and –  
_

There they are. Nothing more than a breeze, the smallest of whispers in Kylo's mind, but there they are. Twelve digits that Kylo immediately enters into the padlock on the door, which swings open for him in an instant without making a sound.

It only takes him a glance to get a hold of the situation:  
Hux, on the floor. One leg drawn to his chest, the other one stretched out, left hand pressed to his shoulder, face pale and teeth bared. Above him, a civilian, blaster in his hand, back turned to Kylo, not noticing him yet.

Another shot is fired, aimed right between Hux' eyes.

Kylo reacts instantly. A flick of his wrist is enough to stop the blaster bolt only an inch away from Hux' face. Another small gesture and the bolt explodes in a ray of light, a tiny supernova (Kylo shields his eyes with his hand, the brightness still trying to claw its way into his skull. There is a scream – confusion? Pain?). He doesn't give the civilian time to recover from this interruption, and instead raises his hand. A silent command, a flicker in the Force, and the civilian is thrown against the nearest wall, where he collapses with a small sound, unconscious and – at least for now – innocuous.

Time to turn his attention to Hux, who is still sitting on the floor like some useless piece of decoration (no, really, he could at least get up – or look at Kylo – or thank him for saving his sorry ass instead of staring straight ahead). Kylo regards him coldly. “Comfortable? Oh no, don't mind me, just stay there and wait until the cleaning droid picks you up.”

“Funny, Ren. Very funny,” is all he gets for an answer. Somehow, it sounds less malicious and more disorientated. Confused? Hux is most likely in shock, and normally that would be as good an excuse as anything for his strange behaviour, but there is something else, and Kylo doesn't even need to read his thoughts to become aware of Hux' _fear_. He reeks of it. The fact that he cannot even look at Kylo, but instead to a spot somewhere to the right of him seems suspicious as well.

It's irritating.

“What is it?” Kylo barks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He reaches into Hux' mind  and the intensity of _No, no, no!_ and _I can't-_ almost burns him, making him physically flinch and take a step back. “Do you want to spend the rest of the night on the floor?” he hisses, not asking what is wrong, not wanting to trigger another wave of burning anxiety.

“No,” Hux says quietly, and Kylo grits his teeth, because he is not used to Hux sounding this small, this confused, because right now Hux is incalculable, incomprehensible, and simply shouldn't be. “I need to go to medbay.”

“Obviously. Bravo, General, thank you for your outstanding observation. You've been shot at, of course you should go to medbay. In fact, you should have gotten up and gone there already! You – ”

“Ren. There are more pressing matters than a blaster wound or two right now.” Finally, there is something in his blank expression: He frowns, brows raised, and when he smiles, Kylo sees that it's more of a grimace, all teeth and gum. “I can't see a fucking thing.”

Kylo blinks. Again. _Well_ , he thinks, and then again, _well, isn't this night just full of surprises?_  
“Fine,” he says, finally, after too long of a silence. “No. Not fine. I mean - ” Inhale. Exhale. Again. “Give me a moment. I need to collect my thoughts.”

“Sure”, Hux responds, sounding remarkably cheerful. “Take your time. I'm not going to go anywhere, after all. Want to catch a good night's worth of sleep? I'll be waiting and – for fuck's sake, Ren, get me out of here!” he barks.

“First things first. Getting you to medbay is important, but not urgent.”

“What do you mean by 'not urgent'?”

Hux says something else.

Kylo doesn't listen. He makes a mental list.

Important: Medbay.

Urgent: Getting the civilian locked up.

Important _and_ urgent: Using Hux' communicator to tell someone to pick the civilian up, because he cannot do both at once (and his curiosity insists that he accompanies Hux, if only for him to hear the actual diagnose about his condition. Not seeing anything? Well, let's hope it lasts. That would serve him right.)

Kylo ventures closer to the unconscious figure, nudging it with the tip of his boot. He rolls the man onto his back to get a better look at him. Then he frowns. Blond hair, boyish features. A nobody. An everyman. Blood is dripping from his left temple, staining his cheek and jaw. _And who would you be?_ An imprisoned rebel? A part of the Resistance, who managed to sneak in? Or simply a defected, useless Stormtrooper, no longer able to differ between friend and foe (there would be one of these, one day, maybe not in this very second, but it's almost inevitable. Kylo knows this. He knows what it's like to turn against his former _masters_ , he is certain that even sheep can grow fangs)?  
In the end, however, it doesn't matter who he is and where he comes from. He needs to be taken care of.

Kylo already wants to ask Hux where he keeps his communicator when he hears footsteps and the quiet sound of metal rubbing against metal, individual pieces of armour sliding against each other.

(“None of our division has managed to find him yet. I've never seen Phasma this angry. What do you think she'll say if we're the ones who get him?”

“She'll ask us why the fuck we snoop around the officers' quarters. Why should he be here and not at the closest hangar?”

“Because they'll never suspect him here! And because it's the only place nobody has searched yet.”

“Yeah, but RR-9487 and AL-3146 saw Kylo Ren go in this direction. Even if the prisoner was here, Ren would have sliced him in two already.”

“You only say that because you don't want to run into Kylo Ren.”

“Would _you_ want to meet Kylo Ren in some dark corridor in the middle of the night?”

“Ha! No way! I'd rather fuck a Wookie!”

“Wait, are you implying I need to shave my legs again?”

“What? No, I mean – oh shit.”)

The last two words are uttered at the sight of Kylo, who has left the room and stepped into the corridor, arms folded in front of his chest. “And where do you think you're going?” he drawls as he watches them (the two women, he's heard that much even with the voice modulation of their helmets) slightly shy away from him.

“Sir, we've been looking for a prisoner that escaped custody.”

“And since we heard that you'd made your way to the officers' quarters, we've followed you.”

“Unwillingly.”

“ _Unwaveringly_ ,” one of them quickly corrects her colleague, and for an instant Kylo actually wonders if she'll hit the other woman over the head with her own blaster. “In case you need reinforcements.”

“So let me get this straight,” he starts, “you are searching for a prisoner, see me and follow me _unwillingly_ in the hopes that I have already done your work and taken care of everything. Correct?”

“No!”

“We - ”

“Silence!” he bellows and jabs his index finger at them. “You are lucky inasmuch as that I actually did handle the situation better than you two could have done. What are you called anyway?”

“AM-0930, sir. And this is VL-2703.”

“Ah. Well. Whatever. You two, get in here – you have a prisoner to escort to the interrogation chambers. Don't you dare to lose him on the way, understood? And don't even think your cowardice will be left unpunished!”

He turns and re-enters the room, hearing them follow (“General!” one of them cries out at the sight of Hux, and Hux rolls his eyes and grimaces, and Kylo really has no time and patience for all of this). “Get on with it, you two! I don't have all night!”

Under his scrutinizing gaze, they carry the man away, one of them grabbing him by the ankles, the other one under his arms.

Now that he has properly taken care of _this_ situation, he can focus his attention on the _other_ situation. The bigger problem: Hux. Hux is always a problem, an annoyance to deal with, but now exceptionally so, as Kylo regards him curiously, trying to figure out how to get him to medbay without getting blood on his robes. "Still with us, General?" he asks, mockingly, and smiles to himself when Hux growls and raises his head to look into Kylo's general direction.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't died yet, Ren. I could have, though, with how much time you're wasting here yelling at my crew. Will you finally lower yourself to do something useful – helpful – in regards to my person?"

"Why don't you get up yourself? Ah, I see," he corrects himself as his gaze falls to the small patch of torn fabric just above Hux' left knee and the gash underneath. A grazing shot. No doubt about that.   
No blood, though – the heat of the bolt must have cauterised the wound instantly. So much about getting blood on his clothing, then. Good. "Give me your hand," he commands, and when Hux obeys – for the first time since they've known each other, Kylo thinks with another small smile –, he grabs his wrist hard enough to bruise and yanks him upright.

Hux grimaces, but keeps silent, and Kylo scrutinizes him and the wound on his shoulder – no blood, either, only a gaping hole in his uniform tunic and the flesh underneath, large enough for Kylo to wonder what it would be like to push his thumb inside, or two fingers, maybe, make him scream and beg; a fitting punishment for all the times Hux has disagreed with him, argued, sneered (he wouldn't sneer anymore if Kylo hurt him now, he's sure of that), and Kylo has to restrain himself from doing so, even though his fingers twitch, even though he _yearns_ to hurt and lash out at him.

He takes one deep breath to brace himself. "Still not seeing anything?"

"Flash blindness," Hux rasps, a faint sheen of sweat on his pale face, one droplet running from his cheekbone to his neck. "It will be gone in a few minute, I assume." As he shifts his weight onto his uninjured leg, he grits his teeth. "What are you waiting for, Ren? Get me to medbay, now!"

Kylo thinks of forcing him to ask for it, but decides otherwise. A hurt Hux is of no use to him – or to the _Finalizer_ , and Kylo finds neither time nor pleasure in commanding the ship, seeing as it would distract him from his own training –, so he simply slings Hux' arm – the one he still has in an iron grip – around his shoulder and steers him to medbay.

Slowly.

Because Hux is limping.

It's annoying.

-

"I am certain there are not this many corners and corridors on the way to medbay," Hux says as they turn right once more, voice shaky with pain and the trembling, underlying anger. "Where are you leading me, Ren?"

"I was under the impression you'd want to avoid your men. But if you want to, we can take the fastest route." The one that leads past the Troopers' quarters.

Hux is silent, jaw working, grip on Kylo's shoulder tightening. "No," he finally says, "you are correct. Proceed."

It's the closest thing to a _thank you_ Kylo will get for now.

He smirks.

-

Kylo has always hated going to medbay for his injuries. He is used to patching himself up, used to treating his own wounds. He is a knight – getting injured is a given and every scar on his body is either a shameful reminder of his failures or a reward for his victories. Having people prod him with needles and medication and painkillers is- almost cowardly, somehow. It feels like cheating.  
Additionally, he dislikes people touching his skin, gloved fingers on his naked flesh, being shoved around (he can take care of himself, can sew a wound shut by himself, he doesn't need- help. He doesn't need help.)

However, what Kylo hates the most is having to go to medbay at night, when the staff has already retreated to their quarters – leaving their comms on, of course, in case of an emergency. It leaves the droids in charge (as much as a machine can actually be 'in charge' of something, really), with their metal bodies and skeleton hands that remind him of – _skeleton fingers carding through his hair, trying to soothe him, unsuccessfully, uselessly, "I will take care of you", no, no- don't go!, he is small, so small, he doesn't understand, how can he be evil, and Ben is alone, and Ben cries, and Ben hates_ – different times. Times he doesn't like to think about.

Getting Hux to medbay wasn't that hard. Getting him to stay there, however, is. Hux has been arguing with the medical droid the very second he's stepped in the room. About having to be guided to the small sleeper. About having to undress. About possibly needing _help_ to undress.

Kylo has watched him, amused by his struggle with the uniform tunic, stifling a chuckle when the droid tried to help and Hux shouted at it to keep its metal hands away.

Now, Hux is sitting on the narrow bed, only wearing socks and underwear and a deep scowl on his face as the droid rattles off the facts about his injuries.

Kylo regards Hux observantly, looks him up and down. He never noticed before just how _small_ Hux is. Not in height, but in mass, how he hides his frame behind shoulder pads and woolen overcoats, how he always straightens his posture to appear _broader_ than he is. Like someone used to being respected. Like authority.

He doesn't look respectable now, with his sagged shoulders and slender, shivering body. He looks like Kylo could snap him in half (and that is a nice thought, one to be stored away and kept treasured for all eternity).

"Just stop it with your anatomical nonsense," he snarls at the droid. "How long until I'm fine again?"

"Three to six months for the shoulder. You must know, General, that not only tissue and bone were hurt, and the skin will heal soon enough, but the internal damage – "

"Yes, _yes_ , whatever!" Hux runs his left hand through his hair, dishevelling it further. "Get on with it, will you? I don't have all night!"

The droid sighs deeply (and Kylo finds himself intrigued by that little sound. Droids don't have lungs to draw the necessary breath, they don't exactly _feel_ exasperation. The ability to sigh must have been built into them for the sheer possibility of showing disdain at especially annoying and difficult patients. He almost starts to like that droid now, just for that). "A sling will stabilize your arm and put some weight off your shoulder. You will have to wear it for at least – "

"No sling," Hux interrupts.

"Sir, I have to insist – "

" _No_ sling," he repeats, voice tight, words dripping acid. "I can't show any weakness to my crew. it's bad enough those two Troopers had to see me in this condition. Go on, droid."

The droid huffs (how?) and raises its chin in defiance (which Hux doesn't see, for he is still staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes. And even if he did see it, Kylo is sure he'd have ignored it). "The leg will heal quickly enough. You will wear bandages to cover both wounds. Even though there is no blood, we should not risk any kind of infection. No shower for at least a week, the wounds shouldn't come into direct contact with water."

"Oh, I am _so_ looking forward to that," Hux mutters under his breath.

"We all are," Kylo says, and Hux shoots a glare in his direction.

The droid goes on and on and on (a tirade of 'Don't do this's and 'Don't do that's and 'It would be wiser if's and 'There might be some trauma from being shot at') while patching Hux up, expertly wrapping a bandage around his upper arm and shoulder, then around his chest to stabilize it. A similar procedure follows in regards to his thigh.

Hux is silent during all of it, endures it stoically, even though Kylo sees him grimace once or twice. Then: "What about the eyes?" he asks quietly, voice barely a whisper, as if he's afraid of the answer. "I was under the impression that flash blindness never lasts more than a few minutes."

The droid freezes in its movements, and Kylo raises his brows. Hesitation? Ah. This is going to be interesting, then. "General," it says, artificial voice slow, as if it's searching for the right words. "I regret to inform you that you are not suffering from flash blindness."

Hux shrugs one-shouldered and dismissively gestures with a flick of his wrist. "Details. Anatomical nonsense. I told you I don't have the time for this. When will my eyes work again?"

"General," the droid responds carefully, "you suffer from severe retinal burns. Which are not curable."

(Kylo is filled with glee, with the desire to laugh until there is no breath left in his lungs.)

To his credit, Hux doesn't flinch. Doesn't show any signs of shock except for the clenching and unclenching of his fists. "Burned," he whispers tentatively, as if he's tasting the word. "You must be mistaken."

"No, General."

"But I- this cannot be! I would have needed to stare into a source of light for _hours_!"

"Depending on the ultraviolet radiation or the intensity and brightness of the light, retinal burns can arise after a few seconds, sir." The droid retreats one step, then a second one, possibly expecting Hux to lash out at it. "If you excuse me for now, General, I will have to file a report about your condition. I will check on you again later." It says and disappears, leaving Hux to himself.

And to Kylo, who watches Hux' lips move soundlessly – it's the word he's tasted before, _burned_ –, watches him draw his head back, leaning it against the wall.

Hux inhales. Exhales. Again. Then: "Ren, I assume you are still present."

"Yes."

"Good. Wonderful. Stay where you are, I'll come over and kill you with my own hands."

"A unique way of thanking me for saving your life."

" _Saving my life?_ " Hux repeats, eyes hard and cold, teeth bared like an animal. "You _crippled_ me!" He is shouting now, slamming a hand down on his knee. "This is your fault, this is all _your_ fault and I will make sure that you are held responsible!"

"Harsh words for someone who isn't even wearing pants right now."

Hux resumes shouting.

Kylo doesn't listen.

He could kill him now. He could crush Hux and Hux must know it. Hux must be scared – Hux _is_ scared, Kylo can feel it. Hux is at his mercy.

The thought brings a smile to his lips. This is all he could ever have wished for. All of it and even more. Kylo has needs, ambitions, plans. Kylo wants to destroy – Skywalker, Solo, _Ben_ – and Hux can be helpful; Hux can be useful to Kylo for the first time since he's stepped a foot aboard this ship. Hux can be a tool, a weapon to be used.

Hux, meanwhile, has stopped shouting, and is now pressing the balls of his hands against his eyes, breathing fast and audible.

"Of course, I do feel responsible. Slightly," Kylo lies and steps closer.

"The fuck you do." Hux breathes in. Out. Again. "Fix this. Fix it _now_ , Ren."

"I can't." _And if I could, I wouldn't._

"So your little magic tricks can cripple me, but not fix me. What a useful thing, this Force of yours. Have you ever thought about performing on childrens' birthday parties? You could make little balloon animals and kill all the children with them, wouldn't that be a blast." The last word comes out as a strangled whisper. Hux presses his lips together.

Kylo feels a spark of anger rise in him, but he wills it down. "The Dark Side is powerful, General. You should not mock it."

" _Then heal me!_ "

"I can't!" Kylo shouts. "The Dark Side cannot heal! If it could, don't you think Vader would have restored his broken body?"

Hux hunches over. He looks distressed, looks younger than he is. He looks a lot like Ben before Kylo erased him, like he wants to erase Hux right now so that he stops resembling a dead boy from the past.

Kylo suppresses his urges and straightens his back a little. "I can help you, though. I can be your eyes."

Hux scoffs. "And what is this supposed to mean?"

"Let me show you." Slowly, Kylo reaches out to touch Hux' temple with his fingertips. Hux doesn't flinch. Even if he had, Kylo wouldn't have cared. He tugs at the Force inside himself, a glowing spark that twists and twitches under the grip of his mind, and reaches out with it, reaches into Hux' mind to link them, bind them together for a moment, showing him the world out of Kylo's eyes. Hux gasps, eyes widening, and Kylo knows he sees himself in the sorry condition he's in: pale face and almost colourless eyes, fragile body and mind and soul. Kylo knows Hux can see his own lips part to ask how this works. And Kylo smiles, draws his hand back, only to see Hux shiver in despair as the world goes dark around him again.

"I can help you," Kylo offers, once more, knowing that Hux won't say no. He has taken a look in his mind, just now, has seen the fear that casts an alarming red shadow over every single one of his thoughts. He has also seen him grasp at every straw he can, a drowning man desperate for someone to save him. "It will cost you."

"Of course. First you hurt me, then you let me pay for you to fix it – no, you won't even fix it. You will work around it. Somehow. What- what else do you want? You've already stolen my eyesight, what else can you take from me? My soul? A kidney? Please don't tell me you want my liver, I still need that one."

Hux is babbling. It's irritating. But underneath the feigned humour, the attempts to hide how desperate he is, Kylo can feel his despair like an open, bleeding wound. Hux is scared of everything that might happen to him now – and this is perfect.

"I want your loyalty."

"My – " Hux scoffs and raises his head, tilting it in Kylo's direction. His lips curl into a sneer. " But _Lord Ren,_ " he says, voice dripping acid like the snake he is, "I already am completely loyal to you."

"Of course you are." Kylo wants to strike him across the face, wants to see his pale skin redden under the blow. His fingers clench into a fist. He slowly closes his eyes, waits until the urge is gone and he can trust himself again. This is important. This is too important to ruin. "You will prioritize my wishes, my orders. You will tell your crew to do the same. You will be my weapon."

"In what war?"

"One you don't need to know about. Not yet."

"What if I say no?"

Kylo doesn't respond. He doesn't have to. It's a rhetorical question, as they both already know the outcome to this little battle of wills: Hux, blind and even more useless than the rest of the time, would be evicted from his position, would lose everything he worked for, lived for, would be nothing more but any other ordinary human – replaceable. That is, if they even let him live.

No. There is no way at all that Hux would decline Kylo's gracious offer.

Hux knows this, must have thought about it in those few moments of silence, because, now, he hangs his head and sighs, a low, almost pitiful sound (Ben would have pitied him, wouldn't he? But Ben was weak and Kylo has no use for the weak). "You really aren't lying about not being able to heal me?"

"No. Only a Jedi could. There are no more Jedi." Except for one, and nobody could make _this_ Jedi help somebody like Hux. This one Jedi, the last of them, who will be crushed by Kylo's wrath soon enough.

"Wouldn't you know all about that, oh wise Jedi Killer?" Kylo grits his teeth at the nickname – the one he's seen in so many minds before, the one they don't dare to say out loud –, once more wanting to hurt him, but Hux, obliviously continues: "I want you to show me. One more time. Before I make up my mind."

Kylo nods, then remembers that Hux cannot see him, and hums affirmatively. He reaches out, slowly, fingers brushing against his temple and –

Hux strikes at him, quicker than Kylo had thought him capable of. His right hand grabs Kylo's wrist, his left hand – already balled into a fist – swings blindly at him, almost connecting to his abdomen, but Kylo reacts with a simple thought, a silent command, and Hux – seething in anger – is frozen in his movement. He bares his teeth, viciously trying to fight against the invisible bonds around his body. In Kylo's eyes he is nothing more than prey attacking in its last, desperate moments, in the futile attempt to scare a predator away.

Kylo won't have any of that nonsense.

He pins Hux to the bed with one hand – _weak, such a weak human_ –, grip tight around his injured shoulder. The palm of his other hand claps over Hux' mouth, gloved fingertips digging into the flesh of his cheeks and chin, to muffle Hux' agitated, angry shouts. A smile tugs at Kylo's lips as he skims this thumb over the bandage on his shoulder until he finds the wound (Hux inhales audibly, eyes wide with fear, because he must know, must realize what is going to happen, must know that this is his fault alone; tools need to be sharpened and animals need to be punished for their misbehaviour), and then digs his thumb into it as much as he can.

Hux screams.

Kylo loves it.

In fact, Kylo would like to hear more of it, but Kylo cannot afford to draw his hand back from Hux' mouth, lest the droid notices and comes over. Kylo doesn't need to be disturbed in this moment of triumph, of showing this proud and arrogant idiot that can be hurt like anybody else, that there is always someone stronger – and right now it's Kylo and it's _glorious_ , because it's Kylo who can make him feel pain and despair, and maybe Hux didn't fear him beforehand, but he definitely should be scared of him from now on. Fingers scramble over his wrists, curling and pushing and shoving, but Kylo simply shifts his weight in response, pressing down onto the injury, watching Hux' face go pale, then red, listening to the muffled screams grow louder and more desperate.  
Kylo smiles behind his mask and lets go of him, resting his hands left and right of Hux' head (there are tears brimming in Hux' eyes, but of course the man is too stubborn to grant Kylo the pleasure of getting to see him cry). "Don't," he growls, quietly, into Hux' ear, "ever try to attack me again. Understood?"

Hux breathes open-mouthed, quickly, audibly, then nods just once.

"Good." He raises and straightens his back, brushing imaginary specks of dust from his robes. "My offer still stands. Even though you don't really deserve my help after this little display of disobedience."

It takes a few long moments until Hux has caught his breath, until he can talk through the pain. "You will be my eyes."

"Yes."

"Whenever I need you."

Kylo smiles. "If you behave."

"Fine," Hux snarls through gritted teeth, still flat on his back, fingers carefully brushing over the injured spot. " _Fine_. We have a deal, Ren." Then, more thoughtfully: "I will have to delegate some of my duties. I can't oversee everything, not the way I am now. It would raise suspicion if you were to look over my shoulder all the time when I get handed classified information. Mitaka – "

"– is a usurper."

"Aren't we all?" Hux asks with a smile that says 'Aren't _you_ one?', before he dismissively waves a hand and carefully leans up on his elbows, then brings himself into a sitting position again. "Fine. Not Mitaka, then. It won't be too much of a problem, he is not my only officer. " He folds his legs under him. "I won't be able to oversee the arrival of the new Stromtroopers. This is something Phasma will have to do alone. I'll speak to her later – she is loyal to me and to the Order, she'll pose no danger. I need to talk to her, anyway. About those Troopers." He pauses. "What time is it?"

A quick glance to the chronometer on the wall, digits shimmering dully in the twilight of the medbay. "0100 sharp."

"Tomorrow, then. What about the Resistance scum?"

"To my knowledge, he was brought to the interrogation chambers."

"Good. That is good. Then we'll go there. Right now. I want to see that bastard dead." It takes Hux a second to understand what he's said, but when he does, his face twists into a grimace that Kylo almost finds endearing. There is a lot of anger in him, anger and hatred. In another life the Force could have deemed him worthy. In another life, he would have been a welcome addition to the Dark Side.  
"How," Hux says, then, "how did you find me, anyway?"

"Coincidence. I was looking at your mind and felt your distress."

"I don't- I don't appreciate you being in my mind."

"You will have to get used to it."

Hux growls and makes his way to stand on shaky legs. "Fine. One more question."

"Ask."

"Will you have to read my thoughts to- to do this thing?"

Kylo smiles. "Do you think your thoughts are so important you need to keep them a secret from me?"

"Just answer the fucking question, Ren!"

"No," he says truthfully. "I don't have to." He might do it anyway. It's not like Hux can stop him. He smiles. "I cannot say the same for Master Snoke, however."

"The Supreme- _shit_!" Kylo wants to chuckle, wants to ask if that was supposed to be an insult regarding his master or a description of the situation at large. Hux blanches. "I completely forgot about him! He will know! He will- he just needs to look at me and he – "

"I can help you," Kylo tells him and lays a hand on his injured shoulder – overly gently, just a reminder of who's in control. "I teach you how to shield your mind from him."

Hux looks young and afraid. Kylo relishes in it. "Tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

"Yes. Tomorrow."

"I will- you- where did that blasted droid put my clothes?" Kylo hands them to him and Hux begins to dress himself. "Ren? One last thing."

"General?"

"Dispose of the droid and all medical records regarding my condition."

He grins. "I thought you dislike me causing unnecessary destruction?"

"Ren. Just do it."

Kylo leaves, laughter on his lips, lightsaber in his hand.

-

“I need to go to my quarters first. I can't present myself like – like this,” Hux says as they leave the medbay, fingers tugging at the torn fabric of his uniform tunic where he knows the bandage is visible on his shoulder. Ren turns his head to look at him, and Hux sees himself out of Ren's eyes, out of Ren's perspective (it's jarring, irritating, to say the least, to see and not to see at the same time, having no control over the movement of these eyes that are not his own, and when Ren casts his glance downwards to scan over the slip of white fabric against dark grey one, Hux realizes just how _pale_ he looks, how ashen his face is – truth to be told, there is not a lot of distinction between the bandage and the rest of his skin, and fears it makes him appear _weak_ , then he wonders if he _is_ weak. He has been shot at point-blank, it should come as no surprise to himself that he looks – as they say – a little under the weather, but then, Ren is attacked all the time as well, during his training and during his oh-so-classified missions. Ren seems to take his frequent injuries better than Hux does, or – at least – Hux cannot remember a time where Ren actually complained about battle wounds and scars – although Ren complains about _everything_ else).

“You are limping,” Ren tells him, as if Hux doesn't know, bringing him back from his thoughts. “Do you really think it is wise to go to your quarters, then to the interrogation chambers and back once more?”

Hux supposes not. He frowns and folds his arms in front of his chest – and winces, because the movement sends a jolt of pain through his injured shoulder.

“Let him see,” Ren says quietly. “Let him see he did not manage to kill you. Let him see he failed.”

_Since when are you the voice of reason here?_ Hux thinks and narrows his eyes. Unfortunately, however, he has to admit that Ren has a point. “Lead the way, then,” he orders, feeling momentarily a little disoriented and dizzy as Ren turns away from him to walk ahead in lean and urgent strides.  
It's not easy to keep up with him. Logically, he knows that he walks a little behind Ren, one or two steps, a little to his left, shoulders almost brushing. Logically, he is aware that the sounds of Ren's footsteps reach his ears from a distance – and out of tune with his own –, but his mind fails to connect sound with sight, and when Ren turns swiftly around a corner, Hux' mind mistakenly thinks _he_ does so as well and, before his body can react, it results in him crashing into Ren's side, elbow connecting with his ribs more forcefully than he would have liked.

Ren catches him by the shoulders to keep him from tumbling down – or on top of him in an undignified tangle of limbs – and stares at him (Hux can feel the annoyance radiate off him as if it's actually touchable). “You should know that it's tiring, linking my mind with yours. Refrain from any further dumb actions to waste my strength and both our time, will you?”

Hux narrows his eyes and grits his teeth (and it is wrong, _wrong_ to see himself doing so, it's like looking in a mirror which only intends to portray him in the most unflattering light imaginable). “Then do take care where you are going!” he growls and combs his fingers through his hair to fix the few strands that have fallen out of place. Going by the sight of himself through Ren's eyes, he fails to do as good a job at it as intended, which only elicits another annoyed growl.

The rest of the way, they walk in silence, with Hux trying to accommodate to this new and unpleasant arrangement (when they have to ascend a staircase, he notices a handrail about an arm-length away from Ren, and his mind screams at the wrongness again when he extends his left hand only to feel the metal brush against his gloved hands instantly, and he hates the way he has to tentatively take each step with care so that he doesn't slip and fall and get sent to the medbay _again_ , because he is – surprisingly – not in the mood to deal with questions right now, questions about his current condition and the possibly very real disaster which the medical personnel will have found by now; he hates the way Ren waits at the top of the stairs, the way Ren regards him up and down, and Hux actually closes his eyes to block out the sight of himself climbing stairs like a child that is afraid of heights – but it's no use, of course, for the images are projected into his _mind_ and not to his _eyes_ , and when he finally catches up with Ren, he can feel and watch his face grow hot with shame) and with Ren most likely being in thoughts.  Hux wonders if he is already regretting the decision to … well – babysit him. Patience has never been one of Ren's virtues, after all.

Finally, they reach the interrogation chambers, where two Troopers are standing guard. They might be those two from before. He is not sure about it, at first, but Ren chuckles lowly. “AM-0930 and VL-2703,” he says, the glee in his voice audible. They flinch, and even with their helmets on, Hux can almost see their frightened gaze as they cover slightly. “The General and I will have a word with you, tomorrow.”

“But for now, you will open the door and let us see the prisoner,” Hux adds, folding his hands behind his back. Ren might be enjoying rising fear in his Stormtroopers' hearts, but he prefers them calm. Frightened soldiers don't carry out their duties with the appropriate care and consideration.

“Yes, sir!” they reply in unison. One of them punches in the code into the small control panels that results in the door swinging open soundlessly.

-

The prisoner is not unconscious. Hux would have preferred it that way, to be truthful, would have preferred to wake him with a fist to his face. But, as it is, their prisoner is awake and grinning at the sight of them (and this is _wrong_ , too. He should be scared, scared and crying and begging them to spare him, not grin at them as if there is a funny joke hidden in this situation, a joke only he can see. Hux wants to beat the grin out of him, wipe it off his face, wants to claw his eyes out – bright and green and shining with … madness, maybe; it would explain a lot, for only a madman would dare to attack Hux and then have the nerve to _grin_ at him – and use them as replacements for his own useless ones).

He clenches his fists behind his back before he can stop himself. He quickly corrects this slip in appearance, taking one deep breath and then another. _Relax_ , he thinks. _Show him that he failed. You are alive and he will not be for much longer._ The thought pleases him just enough to calm down again, to hide his hatred behind his carefully crafted, expressionless mask. Ren has already stepped forward to stand next to their prisoner, scanning the metal restraints with a quick glance, his eyes then flickering to Hux to allow him the necessary certainty in his own movement to stand across from Ren, on their prisoner's other side. His fingers grip the metal restraints around the man's wrists, more to keep his balance than to check their firmness. With an air of nonchalance around him, he looms over the bound figure. “State your name and home planet.”

The only response he receives is a wet splatter of spit on his left cheek (maybe, had he seen it coming, he would have been able to evade it, but he only saw Ren look at the boyish features, at the man baring his teeth – and by then, it already was too late, and now it is too late, now there is something warm and wet and _smelling_ right next to his nose, right underneath his already abused eyes). Hux wants to grab him by the hair and make him lick it off before he sinks his own teeth into this bastard's jugular and rip his throat out. He wants to- But no, not yet. Not now. He is better than this. He forces himself to simply wipe it off with the sleeve of his already torn and ruined uniform.  
“I don't need to ask you, you know? I am merely kind enough to give you the chance of getting this ordeal over without inflicting unnecessary pain on you, which is decidedly generous of me, considering that you were not going to grant me the same.”

“Yeah,” the man sneers, and Hux would have been surprised at how young he sounds, had he not seen even younger men go to war, had he not _sent_ even younger men into combat, “no way I was going to kill you quickly!”

“Then allow me to return the favour.”

Ren hums, a small, content sound that comes from the back of his throat. “Let me. I will be more effective.”

All that Hux hears, however, is: “You can't do this, you are weak, weak and useless, even in this,” and he presses his lips together to contain a snarl, because he knows it to be true, at least for now, knows he has no choice but to permit it and relish in every scream he can get.

And scream he does. Not at first, though, of course not. At first, there is Ren's hand merely inches away from his face, almost touching his temple like Ren did with Hux earlier. Then, there is confusion in his eyes, the underlying feeling that something is going to happen, something he cannot yet know (but he will, Hux swears silently. He will learn what it's like to have a pain inflicted that is unlike anything else, unlike anything he's ever felt; he will learn what it is like to fear for his life, just like – well, just like Hux learned only hours ago. With the slight difference that there is nobody coming to the rescue this time). His body is rigid at first, bound by restraints that cannot be seen, only be felt and feared, his eyes widen (Hux assumes this is where the pain begins, for their prisoner's teeth rattle in his skull and he bites his lip hard enough for Hux to see the skin break, for him to see the first few drops of blood to spill over. _It's not enough_ , Hux thinks, _never enough_ ).

"Our friend here is called Henry," he hears Ren say, and he almost wants to tell him that he doesn't care, that he doesn't want to hear anything at all, that he only wants to watch the man bleed and scream and die, but he knows – yes, yes, of course – that they need any intel they can get. Still, he is transfixed by the sight of their prisoner jerkily arching his back against the restraints in an almost unnatural angle, and it sounds like music to his ears when _Henry_ throws his head back to scream and scream and _scream_ , the sound echoing off the walls, warming Hux' cold, hard heart.

"An ordinary name for an ordinary creature," Hux whispers, voice thick with satisfaction.

"And he was an ordinary man. But not anymore, isn't that right, boy?" Another scream, even louder, even more desperate, and Ren chuckles. "He originates from Orvax IV, where a man invited him to be part of the Resistance. No – wait – not of the Resistance, not really. He was invited to be part of the division that the Resistance likes to pretend doesn't exist, the one that destroys and tortures for enjoyment." Ren clicks his tongue and Hux swallows a fit of morbid laughter (how fitting, after all, the Resistance embodies chaos, embodies all the Order is against; how fucking _fitting_ that they kill for fun – how different they are from Hux and Ren and all the others in the Order who kill for _fun_ and for a _purpose_ ; how disgusting that the Resistance wouldn't recognize a purpose if it was spitting in their faces). "Aren't you a vile little creature? Getting caught on purpose to wrack havoc on us."

"How-" Hux trails off and licks his lips, watches those of their prisoner part in a whimper. He can see crimson blood staining too-white teeth. "How did he escape custody and acquire the blaster?"

"Dead Stormtrooper, carelessly thrown into the trash compactor."

"Any more casualties?"

"No. He was targetting you and me. A suicide mission."

"Well, if he wishes to die so desperately, we should aid him in this noble cause," Hux says, wanting to reach out to lay his hands around this man's throat, crush his windpipe under his fingers, throttle the life out of him. He wants to –

His vision goes black.

Hux freezes, eyes wide and unseeing. For a long, long moment, there is nothing except for the sounds of heavy breathing: Ren's, his own, this stupid little boy's (it's unsettling, and the fear is back, creeping over his guts like a slimy critter, making him want to throw up, and he feels – helpless, now – what if Ren decides to kill him, here and now, what if Ren lets their prisoner go for whatever reason, what if-). "What's wrong?" Hux whispers, disgusted by how small his voice sounds.

"Nothing," Rens says, maybe a little too quickly. "I told you it wasn't easy to link my mind to yours and hold the connection upright. Especially not while reading a third mind at the same time. My concentration slipped."

"What are you waiting for, then? Concentrate _harder_! I expect you to – "

"No."

"What? Ren, I _insist_ that you – " He is cut off mid-sentence by a large hand grabbing his upper arm and squeezing until he winces, until he fears it will leave bruises on his skin.

"I am not going to kill him, General. Not yet," Ren states quietly, and even through the voice modulation of his mask Hux can hear a twinge of distress – confusion? Anticipation? – in his voice. "He is unconscious and I have more questions."

"And you cannot read the mind of an unconscious person? You expect me to believe that? How stupid do you think I am, Ren?"

"You already know the answer," Ren says, not specificating to what this is supposed to be an answer for. Instead, he shoves Hux none-too-gently into the direction where Hux assumes the door is. "I need to meditate first."

"Medi- oh yes, please do that. Take your time. Be my guest. It's not like we have a fucking problem here with me being blind and there being people who want our heads."

"Stop throwing a fit over nothing, General. It doesn't become you."

"Ah, yes, my humblest apologies, Lord Ren. I have momentarily forgotten that this is _your_ modus operandi. I would bow to you now, to show you my sincerity, but you are holding onto my person. Maybe I should just drop a curtsy, if that would be enough to please you." He rolls his eyes and listens to Ren typing in the security code to open the door from the inside. To be frank, Hux is not sure what angers him more: Ren not reacting to his taunts or Ren not telling him the whole truth, but if he were honest to himself now, what angers him the most is his own situation and how he fails to handle it with as much grace and rationality as he should. Forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath, Hux asks: "What are you going to meditate for, anyway?"

"To regain my strength and receive answers from the Force." Hux grinds his teeth, wanting to yell at him to just _stop_ keeping secrets from him, to stop being this cryptic, but Ren continues: "I will escort you to your quarters, General. We will talk later." The door opens, evidently ending the discourse for now. Ren's grip on his arm tightens to keep Hux from stumbling as he is being shoved forwards. "You two," Ren barks, most likely to the two Troopers still on guard-duty. "Clean him up and lock him up again! No harm may come to him – he is still important!"

"And retrieve the corpse from the trash compactor. Clean this mess up!" Hux adds as he is being led away (Ren is strangely considerate when they descend the staircase, waiting for Hux to conquer each step individually, carefully – holding him close enough for their arms and shoulders to touch – even though he is practically vibrating with impatience. Hux wonders if it's meant as a silent apology for getting him into this whole situation, but quickly discards the thought; Ren never apologizes for anything).

-

"How did you get yourself into this situation, anyway?" Ren asks after a while of walking in silence. "Since when do you let unauthorized personnel into your private quarters?"

"I _don't_ ," Hux growls and huffs. "I was working when someone banged on my door, yelling about a 'Code Red' situation and about my presence being required on the bridge. I opened the door and – you can imagine the rest." He presses his lips together, angry at himself, at his own carelessness. "I had received the report about one of the ground forces getting their hands on a prisoner earlier today. I had- I had intended on having him interrogated about the location of the Resistance's headquarters in the morning."

"He doesn't know."

Hux smiles humourlessly. "How wonderful to be informed about me losing my eyesight in exchange for completely useless information. What a glorious day. It will go down in the history of the First Order as the day of me getting completely fucked over for _nothing_." Ren laughs at that, and Hux feels the corners of his mouth twitch in another, more tired smile. "In hindsight, I wonder how he was able to find out the location of my quarters. The dead Trooper must have talked, I assume." Ren hums affirmatively, and the smile dies on Hux' lips. "Not too much of a loss, then. Nobody will miss a traitor."

A few minutes later – minutes where Hux finds out that this- this actually works, being guided by somebody else, it works and his steps have become far more secure; he does not fear tripping and falling anymore, not right now, at least – but this only works as long as Ren decides to humour him, to take pity on him; it's all Ren's fault, of course, but Ren sees it differently – or rather, Ren doesn't _care_ about being the one to blame for this mess; Ren lives in his own little world that revolves around him, where other people only exist to further his goals; he doesn't see the whole picture, doesn't understand that some things are more important than he is, than they both are. An individual is never as important as the higher cause, it's that easy, it's what Hux knows and believes in. But- if it really is this easy, then why doesn't he simply step down from his post and leave the Order in someone else's hand, now that he is not fit to – no, wait, he shouldn't think like that. He is merely temporarily – _permanently, there is nothing to be done, there is no cure, no, no, stop, stop thinking_ – incapacitated. He is still the best candidate to bring the Order to glory, he is still- he deserves it, he deserves to be recognized for the good he's done, not to be handicapped by this little inconvenience; he deserves to _rule_ , he- doesn't particularly feel like a ruler now and –

"Will you just shut up? Your mind is annoying."

Hux shakes his head, shakes his thoughts off. "Then stop reading it!" he says through gritted teeth.

"Believe me, I wasn't doing it on purpose." Hux hears the underlying _not now, at least_ , and hates him. "If you're screaming like this – in your head –, someone is bound to hear it."

"Do you want me to apologize for being terrified about what the future holds in store for me?" Hux asks and grimaces. He shouldn't have said that. Saying it out loud makes it the truth.

"I want you to be silent for a while."

He breathes in through his nose and shrugs one-shouldered. "Ren," he says, softly, sweetly, full of hatred, "I know you are not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even you will understand right now, in this very situation – which you brought me into, I might add –, there is nothing except for my thoughts to keep me company. " And doesn't that sound positively pathetic.

So pathetic, obviously, in fact, that Ren doesn't even grant him an answer.

They walk in silence, with Hux trying very hard not to think at all – not for Ren's comfort, but more for his own, so that Ren doesn't pick up his – _insecurities, fear, no, stop that_ – _thoughts_ again. When they finally come to a halt, Ren's hand releases his arm. Hux rubs at it absent-mindedly. "I assume we reached our destination. And you still haven't told me what disturbed your 'concentration'." He stops himself from making air quotes at the word. But just barely.

"It has nothing to do with you."

"Is that so? I'd like to confirm that for myself. Don't forget, Ren, you have sworn to be at my side – on my side."

"I have sworn to be your eyes, not to coddle your every paranoid thought."

"You aren't very good eyes. If you haven't noticed, it's dark in here. All thanks to your lack of 'concentration'." This time, there are air quotes. He doesn't even regret stepping down to this level of pseudo-rhetorical devices, because Ren makes this sound of utter disgust that always brightens Hux' mood – at least a little.   
It fails to do so, this time. Damn.

"You would do good not to forget _your_ swear and obediently shut up for the rest of the night."

_"I am the commanding officer on this ship, I have a right to know – "_

"I am not under your command, seeing as I'm not part of the Order."

" _I –_ "

" _And_ you need me. More than I need you. You should stay on good terms with me." Hux sneers. Ren laughs. "Well, General, if that is all, then I will go to bed now. I'll see you in the morning."

It's a blow to his guts. One last venomous remark to burn in his veins like salt burns in an open wound. Exhaustion washes over him. He is tired of this, already, is tired of Ren and all he embodies.

"I suppose _you_ will," Hux snarls.


End file.
